Warfare Augmented Intelligent Frame Unit

Chapter 117 - Dickfaced 2.0

This is a deja vu. 

The grotesquely drawn, phallic-shaped tattoo on my cheek just wouldn’t come off. Believe me—I tried everything short of fire. I scrubbed it again and again until my skin turned blotchy and red, the ink still defiantly visible like a curse carved by a permanent marker demon. Eventually, the redness around the outline made the whole thing look inflamed and even more obscene. That’s when I gave up.

Defeated, I staggered out of the school lavatory, cheeks burning—not just from the rash, but from shame. Outside, Neil, Fei, and Myrrh were waiting for me like buzzards smelling a fresh carcass. The moment their eyes landed on my swollen, defiled left cheek, they erupted into merciless laughter.

“Pfft—WAHAHAHAHA!” Myrrh doubled over, slapping Neil’s arm. He, too, wheezed like he’d been punched in the gut by a joke.

“It won’t come off,” I muttered with a tragic sob, my voice strained from both despair and fury. I threw them a glare sharp enough to flay skin. It didn’t work—they kept laughing.

Fei, at least, attempted a semblance of empathy. “Um… Zaft… here.” She held out a small green bottle like it was a sacred relic. “Try this.”

I squinted at it suspiciously. “That better not be hydrogen peroxide again.”

“No!” Fei shook her head frantically, her twintails bouncing in panic. “It’s rubbing alcohol this time! The real deal! Look!” She shoved the label in my face—50% isopropyl alcohol, certified and all.

“Oh. Good.” I sighed, fishing out my trusty pink handkerchief—my mom bought it for me, of all things—and poured a generous amount of alcohol onto it. Then, bracing myself, I began rubbing the offensive artwork off my face, praying to whatever god watched over college humiliation.

“Seriously though, you totally earned that dick on your face—again.” Cindy’s voice cut through the laughter like a dagger wrapped in glitter. She had been standing there the whole time, arms crossed, oozing smug satisfaction. I had been doing my best to ignore her presence—probably because she was the very same criminal who pinned me down earlier and redecorated my face for the second time with her artistic obscenity.

“Okay, okay—sorry! I did apologize earlier, didn’t I?” I raised my hands in surrender, trying not to wince as the alcohol stung my cheek.

Cindy didn’t budge. She stood there with one hand on her hip and the other gesturing in disgust, like a queen reprimanding her jester. “Do you think a half-assed apology magically erases the trauma of my reputation getting shredded in front of our whole class, dickface?” Her eyes flared with righteous indignation. “Would it have killed you not to roast me in public like some discount stand-up comedian?”

I sighed, shoulders slumping. “Alright, alright. My bad. It won’t happen again,” I said in my most sincere voice… then muttered under my breath with a smirk, “At least, not for the rest of this school year.”

I turned away from her volcanic rage and toward Neil, who was still wheezing like a dying hyena, practically choking on his laughter. His face was red, his body trembling, and yet I noticed something odd—the root-like scar crawling up his neck was beginning to pulse with a reddish-black hue. I squinted, concerned for a moment. But he seemed fine. Too fine, considering he was the one who sold me out earlier without hesitation.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Neil said between dying giggles. “This is karma, dude! Sweet, sweet karma! Remember when you made me give that stupid recitation about ostriches laying eggs in front of the entire class? This is payback! Might be late, but vengeance never expires!”

I forced a smile—tight-lipped, teeth grinding behind it. A smile a dog gives when it knows it's about to bite.

One of these days, Neil. I’ll return the favor. I’ll craft a prank so devastating, so perfectly humiliating, that you’ll beg for mercy and maybe even your dead mom. Just you wait, you flamboyant little bastard. Just. You. Wait.

Out of nowhere, a sharp beep sliced through our banter. Myrrh fished her phone from the inside pocket of her blazer, her brows rising slightly as she read the incoming message. Then she looked at us, her lips curling into a grin.

“Agent Feena’s asking what time we’ll be arriving at the KAWAII Office,” she announced, her tone half-playful, half-annoyed.

“That old hag’s getting impatient,” I muttered, rubbing my cheek with renewed vigor, as if friction alone could erase both the ink and the shame. “Tell her we’re on the way.”

Myrrh’s fingers danced across her phone screen. “Typing: ‘Dickface says we’ll be on the way. BTW, he called you an old hag.’ Aaand… sent!” She smiled sweetly, like a cat that just pushed a glass off a table on purpose.

“Wait—what the hell are you sending?! What did I ever do to you to deserve that?” I cried, startled.

“This is punishment for keeping secrets from me!” she snapped, her expression turning fierce, wounded. “First about Fei, then your meeting with the NTR! You even told Agent Feena—but not me? I thought we were friends, Zaft!”

Her voice cracked at the edges, and it hit me harder than I expected. I stood frozen, guilt twisting in my chest. Myrrh and I had gone through so much together—missions, trauma, late-night greasy pizza talks, near-death experiences—and yet, I had shut her out of this. She had every right to be angry.

I opened my mouth, but no excuse felt worthy. Instead, I just stared at her, swallowing the lump in my throat.

She looked away first. “Let’s go. We don’t want Agent Feena to wait,” she said curtly, then turned on her heel and began leading the way.

We followed, our footsteps echoing softly through the corridor as we headed toward the exit of the building—toward another mission, and hopefully, toward fixing what I had broken.

Agent Feena had summoned the four of us—Myrrh, Fei, Neil, and me—to debrief on the recent NTR HQ raid. Standard post-operation protocol. Every operative who took part needed to be interviewed, evaluated, and probably psychoanalyzed. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Except for one thing: Cindy was tagging along.

She strutted into the pathway like she owned the place, arms stretched above her head in a lazy yawn. “Man, I seriously envy you four. You guys actually fought in a real mission against an actual terrorist group. Meanwhile, I’m still stuck memorizing code names and pretending to care about simulations. I should probably hang around you guys more, hoping that I could see some action myself.”

Fei narrowed her eyes slightly. “How did you even know about the raid, Cindy?”

Cindy grinned, already pulling out her phone. “Uh, it’s literally all over social media. Like, trending hard. Look—there are clips of your Frame Units going toe-to-toe with this giant mechanical skeleton thing or whatever.” She tilted her phone toward us, tapping on the video. “See? That’s obviously Myrrh doing that sword thing, right? That blast must be from you, Fei. And this one—yup, definitely Mr. Dickface’s handiwork. As for Neil… well, since he’s gay, I guess he was just tagging along for the drama.”

“Fuck you, Cindy!” Neil snapped, his face reddening like a kettle about to burst. “I told you—I’m not gay!”

“Ah… ha… ha…” Fei let out a nervous, robotic laugh, eyes flicking away. Of course she didn’t want to engage further—she had too many secrets of her own. After all, she was the Red Meteor, once aligned with the enemy. For now, silence was her shield.

Cindy shrugged, completely unfazed. “I mean, I’m just saying. Must’ve been wild. I wish I could’ve joined the action. Ever since I blew myself up during the Licensure Examination Tournament, my year’s been so dull. Nothing exciting for us first-years. Maybe next year I’ll finally get assigned to a real mission.”

There was a moment of silence. Myrrh blinked slowly. Neil muttered something under his breath. I just rubbed my temple, trying not to picture Cindy charging into a battlefield and somehow making things worse.

“If we need to blow something up, maybe,” I scoffed under my breath.

“What?” Cindy tilted her head.

“Nothing.” I shook my head, forcing a tight smile.

Just then, Cindy squinted ahead. “Ah, we’re finally here.”

We had arrived—standing before the towering glass doors of the KAWAII Office, a sleek, high-security facility that gleamed with authority and intimidation. Even from outside, we could feel it—the gravity of what lay within. Our footsteps slowed, hearts thudding against our ribs. This wasn’t just an interview—it was judgment.

Neil fidgeted with his collar, while Fei’s eyes darted side to side, calculating exit points like a cornered spy. No surprise there. Out of the four of us, they had the most at stake—former collaborators, or at least sympathizers, of the Neo Terrestrial Reich. Even if they’d switched sides, shadows of suspicion still clung to them.

“We may not be on a victory podium,” Cindy suddenly said, brushing nonexistent dust off her uniform, “but this is where we part ways.” She gave a carefree wave. “Goodbye!”

“Yeah, goodbye! Let’s hang out next time!” Myrrh waved back with her usual sparkle.

Cindy turned and dashed off, her crimson ponytail swaying behind her like a signal flare. And just like that, it was down to the four of us. The accused. The survivors. The ones walking toward the consequences of our choices.

We stepped forward together, the air thicker with every step.

“Oh, wait—before you go inside…” Myrrh called out.

I turned my head, and before I could react—slap! Something cold smacked against my cheek.

“Ow! What the hell?”

Myrrh smiled sweetly, her hand still hovering where she’d placed a discreet, skin-toned medicinal patch right over the infamous dick tattoo.

“You better cover that up before you meet the professionals,” she said with a smirk. “You already look like a clown. But I have no intention of joining your circus.”

I stared at her—half grimace, half grin. That was Myrrh. Always blending affection with a jab. She could be brutal, but somehow it always came wrapped in genuine care.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s why I couldn’t stop falling for her.